


Sins of the Father

by ShadowFall113



Category: Tin Man (2007)
Genre: AU, Crimes & Criminals, F/M, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Original Character(s)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-12
Updated: 2019-01-13
Packaged: 2019-10-09 02:58:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17398715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShadowFall113/pseuds/ShadowFall113
Summary: After the Melting of the Wicked Witch Jeb Cain arrives at the Shining City on the Hill to start the next chapter of his life. He has no idea that he's about to embark on a life-altering quest, revealing the dark undercurrents of the city and to become involved in a steep uphill fight against an organization backed by The Man Behind the Curtain.Excerpt - Jeb recoiled, flushing in righteous anger. “That was nothing like–“Blaise overrode him. “You acted out of selfish desire with no regard or care for the consequences. You put your vision of ‘what is right’ above the letter of the law. What you did was no different than the power you helped to overthrow.”Jeb could find nothing to say. The fist in his gut tightened.Blaise sneered at him. “You have forgotten yourself, Jeb Cain. And you have brought shame to what it means to be a Tin Man.”





	1. Welcome to the City

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Tin Horses and Paper Planes](https://archiveofourown.org/works/268317) by [The_Watched_Pot](https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Watched_Pot/pseuds/The_Watched_Pot). 



> Still a bit rough! Would love and appreciate feedback!

Sins of the Father

Chapter 1: Welcome to the City

Central City – 6 months after the  
Melting of the Wicked Witch

Jeb Cain stared up at the Shining City on the Hill with a look of firm determination. He nudged his mare forward with a soft touch of his heels to her withers. Mercy was a worldly old bay mare, and not much to look at. But she was one of the best horses the Resistance had. Mercy had found Jeb in the middle of one of the worst skirmishes he had ever been in. Clouds of smoke, dark earth, and fire rippled through his memories. The man and horse had been inseparable ever since. Although, Jeb suspected it was more his constant supply of apples that kept him in her favor; a trick he had learned from his father.

The young man’s expression tightened as he swayed gently in the saddle in time with Mercy’s plodding.

The thought of his father sprung a leak of complicated emotions. Not the least of which was a deep-seated love and admiration. And trepidation. Jeb had spent a few months with his father after the eclipse on the Cain ranch, working the land and the horses, and getting to know his father’s family. Jeb had been a little surprised to know that he had three surviving uncles that still lived on the ranch, and a grandfather. In the time that he had spent there, developing a rhythm and rapport with Cain senior, Daniel, he started to notice things; like the strain between his grandfather and his father, and the easy if tentative camaraderie between Wyatt and his brothers.

Jeb watched his father’s family from afar. Or at least it felt that way. The young Cain wasn’t very good at letting anyone past his wall of emotional vulnerability. They were all strangers, even his father. He was nothing like Jeb had thought he’d be.

Jeb knew that the myth of Wyatt Cain that he had created as a boy from fragments of memory and stories he had heard from his mother, and from those who knew him as a Tin Man, would likely never be reconciled with the man he was now getting to know. He also knew that it was unfair to hold Wyatt to that myth. And being back in his life, fighting alongside him in the Fall of Azkahdelia (Now adamantly called the Melting of the Wicked Witch due to royal _decree_. Now _there_ is a complicated family dynamic.)… It had all managed to shift his original beliefs. And what he had seen… The way his father had acted around his motley crew…

Well… Jeb had always been observant. A trait that was widely considered a good thing, if not absolutely essential during the reign of the Wicked Witch. But, Jeb couldn’t help feeling like he was seeing more than his father would have liked.

Wyatt had thrown himself into the work on the ranch, like a man fighting to forget something… or maybe, trying to accept something. And Jeb had a sneaking suspicion that he knew what– _who_ – it was. Jeb had seen those warm, fleeting glances his father had seemed keen to hide during those days Wyatt and his eclectic group: a zipperhead, a Viewer, a shape shifter, and a princess, had fought alongside the Resistance.  
But– Well, it wasn’t really any of his business, and Jeb liked to think he was reasonably open-minded. It hadn’t taken Jeb long to let go of the idea of Wyatt remaining single after his mother’s death. After all, like Jeb himself, he had mourned her loss for years, trapped in the confines of the Tin Suit, doomed to watch Zero murder his mother over and over again until someone let him out.  
And Wyatt had thought he lost both his wife _and_ his son for fifteen years. After that, his father had a right to like whomever he wanted, even if it was an odd choice.

Jeb just wondered if Wyatt would ever figure that out for himself.

Where his father had needed to throw himself into the labor of the ranch, Jeb had only been able to find comfort in the work for a few months, before he had to yield to the itch in his skin. He had been so used to being on the move constantly that it was difficult for him to stay in any place for too long. And the nagging need to keep _doing_ something, to make a difference in the legal system of the O.Z. was ultimately the thought that made his decision to leave an immovable one.

Wyatt hadn’t tried to make him stay, though. And it had been a characteristically short conversation, even with the stiff awkwardness easing considerably between them. But their exchange was still a bit halting. Neither father nor son knowing exactly how to bridge that emotional gap that time and tragedy had opened.

“I’m leaving tomorrow,” Jeb said as he helped his father brush down one of the horses.  
Wyatt paused, sending a piercing blue look over the back of the bay gelding. Jeb met his gaze stubbornly. The older man grunted and went back to brushing down the horse. Short brown hair floated off to the ground in delicate clumps.

“I figured you might be leaving soon. When are you headed out?”

Jeb went back to grooming the horse, gently teasing out a knot in the gelding’s thick black mane with deft fingers.

“First light,” he said with a thread of iron, expecting Wyatt to argue the point.

Another small silence filled the warm barn, broken only by muted snorts and munching from the horses already brushed down and in their stalls.

“I see,” was all he said. “Where will you be going?”

Jeb felt a flicker of annoyance and then firmly squashed it. Wyatt’s concern and nosy curiosity was his right as his father. And he had probably already guessed where he was going, anyway.

Jeb kept combing out the mane, and cleared his throat to mask his earlier irritation, “Central City.”

He could feel Wyatt’s gaze again. He pretended to not notice.

“I need to leave now if I want to get there before winter sets in,” Jeb needlessly explained. He was sure his father already knew that, but something about his silent attention always made Jeb want to fill the empty space. He could imagine that stare being the only tool needed to get suspects to spill their guts with alacrity, and Jeb could sympathize.

“If you need any help packing up supplies for the road–“

“I’m already packed,” Jeb said, cutting him off, then winced slightly. He hadn’t really meant for it to sound that abrupt. “But, thanks anyway.”

Jeb could see his father’s hat bob over the back of the bay as he nodded, “It’s no trouble.”

Jeb stood there and watched his father from the corner of his eye. He felt a warm flush spread over his face. The last thing Jeb wanted was Wyatt’s disappointment. And even though he knew his father would want Jeb to do whatever he felt he had to do, Jeb still felt a wave of uncertain embarrassment as he hid his reasons for leaving from his father. Even with all the time he had spent with the man, he still felt he had to prove himself. And maybe with this opportunity, he could prove to both Wyatt _and himself_ that he could measure up to the old Tin Man’s legend.  
It didn’t matter to Jeb that he was already his own man, running the Resistance in its later days, forging his own way in the world. But now the war was over. And even though he knew it was ridiculous, he felt he had to prove himself all over again. For what was a soldier without a war? And he had spent most of his young life _being_ a soldier. His skill set didn’t really transfer into a lot of other professions. Well, not honorable ones, anyway.

Jeb sighed away the memories and squared his shoulders. The monstrously tall gates to the city loomed closer as Mercy clopped along the old Brick Route. His breath fogged before him and a sharp shiver ran down his spine. He had made it just in time.

Dismounting he presented his travel papers to one of the guards standing beside the gate. He thought about asking the man for directions for the main police station but on second thought, kept the question to himself. The guard didn’t look the type to dole out information to tourists. Not that Jeb intended on being a tourist. But he had a vague idea how to find the station, anyway. He’d been to the city a few times while in the Resistance hunting down allies, supplies and scraps of news. It had always been a nerve-wracking endeavor, and even now, he couldn’t help the tension in his shoulders.

As he wove around streets and the press of colorfully adorned people, he slowly found his way with only a few false starts. The city hadn’t exactly changed overnight, but it _had_ changed. Where it had been dull and grey during the Witch’s reign, color and life had seeped back into the people and, it seemed, the buildings themselves. Maybe it was just his imagination. But he had heard that Central City had once been known as the Emerald City. That had been hundreds of years ago, but Jeb felt that he could see why. The buildings did have a distinct green tinge to their glassy surfaces, now that he was looking for it. It must have something to do with the material they were made from.

Jeb finally made it to police headquarters. He tied Mercy to the hitching post and sifted through the saddlebags for the letter that had been given to him earlier in the year by Ahamo.

The Queen’s Consort had casually cornered Jeb while he was helping in the dismantling of the Sunsseeder. Jeb was taking a small break, and Wyatt was still outside governing his crew’s shift. As Jeb made to leave his tent, Ahamo materialized, preventing him from heading back out.

“I’ve heard nothing but good things about your leadership of the Resistance, Jeb.”

Jeb shrugged uncomfortably, trying casually to walk around the tall man, but, just as casually, Ahamo blocked his way.

“Thank you, sir, but I don’t–“

“If you don’t mind my saying, such leadership qualities and apparent moral fiber is hard to come by these days.”

With that, he proffered an envelope.

“If you are looking to continue to help straighten things out, the O.Z. could sure use you. I hope you don’t mind, but I’ve made some inquiries on your behalf.”

Jeb took the envelope with a small suspicious frown, trying to work out some angle that Ahamo might be working, but he came up empty. The man was almost impossible to read. He guessed that was probably how he had thrived in the Realm of the Unwanted. The Queen’s Consort wore a pleasant smile, hiding whatever he thought or really felt behind it. Jeb didn’t trust the man, but he knew where his loyalties lay. That, and nothing else was the reason Jeb took the proffered envelope.  
As soon as Jeb took the paper, the man nodded and left without another word, leaving the young man to stare after him in puzzlement. Jeb ripped open the envelope and read, dark brown eyes steadily growing in surprise.

Jeb still didn’t know how he had known, but he had. And that letter was why he was here. It was an approved application to be a Tin Man.

Jeb, application finally in hand, walked up the worn black steps to the station, following the instructions in the letter to present himself to a Captain Mallory of the Central City police, first precinct. It was an impressive building. Dark green marble columns and black stone floors with green carpeting. Gold gilded the edges of old painting frames and the metal filigree grate of the reception desk, which was empty. In fact, there was no one around at all. The cavernous room was eerily silent and cold. After doing a bit of rubbernecking, Jeb turned and walked down a dark green hallway. The place was almost empty. Jeb spotted a few officers buried behind stacks of folders as he moved deeper into the building. He stopped in front of a half open door of the largest office, its plaque missing, and knocked. It seemed the most likely place to find the station’s captain.

“What is it?” A battle-axe of a woman demanded from behind her desk, not looking up.

“I was told to report here,” Jeb answered, tapping his acceptance letter lightly against his thigh.

The woman grunted, distracted and looked up, squinting. “What?”

Jeb tried again, “I was told-“

“Yeah, I heard that,” she cut in, giving him a shrewd once over. “Who are you?”

Jeb stepped inside the office and held out the letter. “My name is Jeb Cain and I was told through this letter to report here,” Jeb intoned carefully. Something his father said about needing to choose his words carefully ran through Jeb’s mind as he spoke.

The woman sniffed and took the paper, unfolded it and read. She grunted and handed it back to him.

“Was expecting you last week,” she said. “But it doesn’t matter,” she continued when he started to speak. “Your posting has been moved. You’ll be reporting to Captain Brittney of the seventh precinct. Hand him that when you arrive.”

Jeb hesitated, and then nodded.

“Can you tell me how to get there?” he asked.

She stared silently at him a moment, clearly contemplating something, and then leaned back in her chair, making it squeak lightly. It was the most out of place object in the room. Its warm, scarred brown leather had seen better days. A few of the studs that held the leather in place were missing. But it looked quite comfortable.

“I knew your father, you know,” she stated through a dominating frown.

Jeb paused before speaking. Her tone seemed to imply that she had more to say on the matter. “Seems like most people around here did.”

Her eyes narrowed. “I never liked him.” Jeb frowned. “Don’t get me wrong, he was a damn good Tin Man. We hated to lose him when he married your mother.”

Now that surprised him. He didn’t know that Wyatt had left the force when he had married Adora. Jeb had always assumed that had happened after.

“He could be a right bastard sometimes. And when he caught a whiff of anything he didn’t like, he never let go of it. Didn’t matter what it was. There wasn’t a damn thing you could do to make him drop it,” she paused, giving the young man a dagger of a look. “You sure you’re cut out for this?”

The question caught him off guard with its abruptness. Jeb opened his mouth to answer when she cut in again.

“There aren’t many of us left that come from your dad’s time. And those of us that _are_ left don’t have time for any half-hearted wannabes. Am I clear?”

Jeb felt his hackles rise, but managed to keep it off his face.  
“Yes, ma’am.”

She gave him another shrewd look. “It’s ‘Captain’. And you can find the Seventh clear across town on the riverside. Might want to keep an eye on your valuables as you head through there.”

Jeb nodded, “I will. Thank you, Captain.”

Making good his escape before she could start in with more pointed remarks, Jeb exited the station and swung into the saddle.

“Hope the next Captain isn’t such a pain in the ass, Mercy, or this is going to be a hell of a lot harder than I expected it to be.”


	2. The Detective

Chapter 2: The Detective

This was definitely a bad part of town. The seventh precinct squatted between the buzz and fuss and lights of the inner city and the hushed quiet of outer city districts like a bruised and rotting apple.

It was a slum.

There were no nice ways of putting it. That being said, Jeb was mildly surprised to find that the police station wasn’t a burned-out hole in the wall. Although, not nearly as impressive as Captain Mallory’s first precinct, it was a great deal more busy. In point of fact, it was damn near crowded. There wasn’t a hitching post, so Jeb left Mercy in the stables, which he found with minimal hunting. He didn’t know how long he’d be, and she had already had a long day. Jeb paid the stable hand to rub her down and give her some hay. He let her munch on his last apple before heading back out to the station’s entrance.  
Jeb squeezed his way through the doors. Ducking and dodging, he made his way to the window of the reception desk.

A frazzled man shuffled some papers, putting them in a flat black paper sorter, and asked, “Can I help you?”

“Yes, I’m looking for Captain Brittney. I was told to report to him,” Jeb replied, almost pressing himself to the wrought-iron screen to avoid getting run over.

“Do you have papers?”

“Yes.” Jeb passed them through the slot. The man opened it, reading quickly through it.

“It says here that you need to report to the first precinct, they’re–“

“Yes, I was just there. Captain Mallory sent me over here. She said that my post had been moved here and that I needed to see Captain Brittney,” Jeb explained.

The man frowned. “You should have transfer papers, then.”

Jeb felt a building frustration. Great. She didn’t say anything about that. Jeb had a sneaking suspicion that the woman didn’t like him.

“She didn’t give me any,” he replied.

The man rubbed his face with a put-upon sigh and leaned around his desk for something.

“I’m afraid you’ll have to wait while they telex over the paperwork, then,” he said passing the letter and a form through the gap in the glass. “And you’ll need to fill that out.”

Jeb frowned. “Great. Thanks. Any idea how long it’ll take to get the paperwork here?”

The man shrugged. “By end of day or by next week. Can’t really say. There’s almost no one left in the first precinct. The new administration has been cleaning house. Most everyone who worked there has be reassigned or sent to prison.”

“Excellent,” Jeb grumbled. “Only problem is that I don’t have till next week.” I only have enough funds left to last me another three days at most.

The man shrugged unapologetically. “Not my problem, son. There’s a table on the wall back there if you want to get that form filled out now. But, I can send a follow-up telex on your paperwork to Captain Mallory if you want.”

Jeb frowned at the form and then glanced up at the man with a nod. “I’d appreciate that.”

The man nodded back. “Sure thing.”

With that being the end of the exchange, Jeb dove back out into the crowd. Managing only one run-in and a hurried apology, he clung to the relative safety of the wall and the narrow table pushed up against it. Setting his form down, Jeb looked for a writing implement. There weren’t any. Casting a reluctant look over his shoulder back to the man at the reception desk, Jeb really didn’t want to go back over there and ask him for a pen. He turned back to the table and looked once more. The jar labeled ‘pens’ was empty, and there weren’t any scattered anywhere on the surface of the desk. Jeb lifted up a few posters and an empty box. Nothing. He then looked under the table. Regrettably, still nothing. Damn. He then scanned the nearby floor. Ah. There, under the chair at the mouth of one of the hallways. Jeb grabbed his papers and readied himself. He waited for a tiny opening to appear in the traffic. Now. Launching away from the wall, he swam upstream and reached the chair without catastrophe. He snatched up the pen in triumph.

“That was some fine detective work there, young man.”

Jeb did his best to jump out of his skin.

“Not many folk think to look for it on the floor.”

Jeb whirled around to find a hulk of a man standing behind him. The crush of people seemed to naturally avoid him, like a rock splitting the path of running water. He was an older man with red hair and beard that were rapidly turning white. He was dressed in a simple shirt with the sleeves rolled up on his massive forearms, and a dark green waistcoat. He seemed perfectly at easy in the chaos of the station. His dark eyes glittered with good humor.

“My old Captain used to use the lack of pens as a test. If you found a pen and handed your paperwork in before break, then you made the cut to work as one of his Tin Men.”

Jeb inched his brows up. “Sounds like an interesting man.”

The man rumbled a laugh. “He was.”

Jeb was struggling to think of what else to say when he was spared the trouble.

“Are those your papers?”

Jeb frowned. “Some of them. I was told I was transferred here, but my captain seems to have sent me ahead of the paperwork.”

The monolith of a man grunted. “Who’s your captain?”

Jeb couldn’t see any harm in telling him, but he hesitated, and he knew that the man noticed. “Captain Mallory,” he answered.

The man hummed in thought.

“Let me see what you have there,” he said, holding out a hand that could swallow a small child. Well, maybe just a child. They didn’t need to be small.

“Sure.” Jeb handed him the letter, since the form didn’t have anything on it yet.

The man read, and then grunted in surprise. He stared at Jeb as if really seeing him for the first time.

“Jeb Cain.”

Jeb nodded, “Yes.”

“I’ll be damned, I should have known.” He handed the letter back to him and offered his hand. “I’m Captain Brittney.”

Jeb felt the bones of his hand grinding together in the man’s grip and wondered dimly if he would regain feeling to it anytime soon.

“Nice to meet you, sir,” he said, keeping the pain out of his voice quite successfully. But he was pleased to know that, besides the formality of the statement, his greeting was genuine.

Captain Brittney grinned. “I’ve been looking forward to meeting you. You look quite a lot like your mother.”

Jeb was given his hand back. The surprise from the Captain’s statement must have shown on his face. The Captain’s smile widened. “You have your father’s eyes, though.”

“You knew my mother?” Jeb asked. Most everyone he had met seemed to have some connection, or knowledge of his father, but he hadn’t met anyone who had known Adora.

Captain Brittney nodded. “She was a nurse here in Central City. That’s how your father met her. Tough as nails. Didn’t take flak from anyone.”

Jeb tried to ignore the cold hand on his heart. “Yeah, that sounds like her.”

Brittney stared at Jeb a moment longer before motioning him to follow him.  
“Come with me, I’ll show you where you’ll be working. We’ll get your papers sorted out later.”

***

A shaggy-haired blonde man sat in shadow and reached for his coffee cup blindly, while reading a telex readout. A sea of folders and bound papers that swamped the desk hid a small lamp, the only light in the room. In fact, paper covered most of the small office. Boxes of it were stacked in a corner. But the man didn’t seem bothered by being so incredibly outnumbered.

He looked like he hadn’t seen sleep in days. His clothing rumpled, shirt rolled up at the sleeves and open at the collar, his tie discarded somewhere on a pile. His green waistcoat had several coffee stains, the darkest being the newest. If you wanted, you could catalogue the stains in order of freshness and work out how long the man had been wearing the vest.  
Looking at the whole of the picture, most people’s eyes would slide right over him. And that seemed to be just the way he liked it.  
But what they would miss, hidden under the mess of hair tied back in a haphazard queue, were sharply intelligent grey eyes that missed nothing, and absorbed information like sponges. His eyes quickly ate through the page he held in his hand.

He was vaguely aware that someone had opened the office door and was talking with someone else. His hand was still hunting for the coffee cup when he heard his name.

“And you’ll be working under Detective Xanthe Blaise in Internal Investigations.”

“Huh?”  
The man, Xanthe, looked up from his paper and studied the newcomers. Captain Brittney and someone he didn’t recognize. He looked young. Great. A rookie. Brittney had been threatening him with one for weeks now.

“What?! Cap-tain-“ Xanthe leaned back dramatically in his chair to see around a stack of papers, coffee finally in hand. “Give the rookie t’ Dillard or Wayne. _They’re_ shorthanded, what with half the fucking department bein’ sentenced.”

Captain Brittney’s white brows descended rapidly. “Shut it, Xanthe. This _rookie_ is Jeb Cain. Resistance leader and a savior of the O.Z. We’re lucky to have him.”

Xanthe frowned and tilted his face away, watching them from the corner of his eye.  
“Shit,” he muttered quietly, his breath displacing the steam from his coffee.

The Captain clapped a hand to Jeb’s shoulder, nearly sending him into the floor.

“I had to give Captain Mallory four of our best office chairs for him,” he said with a cheery smile. Jeb cast the captain a startled look. He seemed taken aback that he had been bartered for. I would have been disappointed that I had been bartered for only _four_ chairs. I would have demanded seven, at least.

“The woman drives a steep bargain…” the captain was saying, but Xanthe didn’t let him finish.

The detective groaned and waved his free hand irritably at the large man and turned back to his desk. “Yeah, yeah, fine. Just leave ‘im ‘ere and I’ll deal with ‘im.”

“Xanthe…”

He knew that tone. That was a ‘come hell or high water’ tone. Xanthe lifted his eyes from beneath pale brows to his captain.

Captain Brittney settled a stern glare down at the disheveled man.

“I want you to _teach_ him,” He stated clearly. “Not use him as a dogsbody, _understood_?”

Xanthe frowned and held the old man’s stare unwaveringly. After a small stretch of apprehensive silence, he turned back to his desk and picked up the paper he had been reading when they had come in.

“Whatever ya say, Captain,” he said and slurped at his coffee.

***

Captain Brittney sighed.

“The bastard’s got attitude,” he said quietly to Jeb, who was rubbing his shoulder. “But I’m not exaggerating when I say that he’s the best in the precinct, if not the city. Although that statement doesn’t carry as much weight it used to.”

Jeb stared doubtfully at the man in question. The light was poor in here, but when Detective Blaise had leaned around the stack of paper, Jeb had gotten a good look at him. The man looked a mess, but his countenance was worse. Deep livid scars spider webbed the map of his face. Jeb hadn’t seen anything like that before. That wasn’t to say that he hadn’t seen some grotesque damage in the war, but this looked different somehow.  
The Captain interrupted his thoughts.

“Given your background, you already have a leg up. But if you can stand him, Xanthe can show you what it takes to be a Tin Man. Particularly now. We have a lot of cleaning up to do.”

Jeb looked from the captain to the hunched, sulking form of the detective.

“I leave him in your capable hands, Detective Blaise,” Captain Brittney said, raising his voice to reach the man around the towers of paper. The detective grunted. As the captain turned to leave, Jeb asked, “Captain.”

The big man turned back to him, white eyebrows raised.

“I was hoping we might discuss a few things before starting,” Jeb continued carefully.

“Oh? And what did you have in mind?”

Jeb hesitated, but only for a second. He had no idea what the proper protocol was, but he was just going to spit it out, anyway. “I was wondering what the pay and lodging situation might be? I have a horse boarded in the stables here, but we don’t have a place to stay, since we just arrived in the city today.”

As Jeb spoke, the big man looked increasingly appalled.

“Forgive me Jeb, I got a bit carried away,” he said, scraping a hand through his thinning hair. “Your pay is a standard eight crowns annually. I know that isn’t much, but it will cover all the basic expenses. And Detective Blaise will show you the routine of the station and where you’ll be staying. He can also show you where your horse can be boarded on a more permanent basis.”

Jeb relaxed a bit. “Thank you, sir.”

The captain nodded. “Any other questions you have, Xanthe will answer them.” As he said that, he shot the detective a glare. The half hidden man didn’t see it, but Jeb was sure he heard it in the Captain’s voice.

The human monolith left without further remark, making the office seem suddenly large in his absence. Jeb turned to face the detective, who was doing a passable job at pretending like Jeb wasn’t there.  
Mentally readying himself, the young man walked over to the overflowing desk and asked, “What would you like me to do?”

The man didn’t look up. “Right now?”

‘No, later,’ Jeb almost snapped at him, but decided that would be a less than intelligent thing to do, so he said nothing.

“Go find a second lamp an’ chair.”

Jeb rolled his eyes. The detective stood suddenly, flipping the folder on his desk shut.

He left the office without saying another word. No, ‘Back in five’, no, ‘I’m hitting the head’, just an abrupt exit.

Jeb sighed to the empty room. This was going to be a long day.

***

“Is this a test?” Xanthe demanded heatedly as he stormed down the hallway after his captain, passersby scurrying out of his way. “Cuz if he recognizes me, _I’m through_. _No one_ will hire me,” he said more quietly as he drew close to the large, older man.

'If that happens,' Xanthe thought, 'findin’ a job’ll be the least of my worries. _Stayin’ alive_ ’ll be-

“You’re not giving him enough credit, Xanthe,” Brittney said with a sigh.

Xanthe glared up at the man, his vernacular suddenly changing. “That’s as big a non answer as I’ve ever heard you give.”

Brittney looked at his detective with mild exasperation, unsurprised by the different speech pattern. “You won’t lose your job. If he’s anything like his father, he’ll-“

“He’ll _what_ , Corbin?” Xanthe cut in loudly. “If he’s anything like his father, he’ll _what_?”

Several people who turned into the hallway turned right around again and walked hurriedly back the way they had come. Captain Corbin Brittney held out his massive hands in a placating gesture. “I only meant-“

Xanthe waved his hands irritably, stalling the other man’s words. “I know,” he said bitterly. “But it’s that kind of thinking that has made my life hell. _And_ his if even half of what I’ve heard is true.”

The young detective stared stonily at the wall. Brittney didn’t have to guess as to whom the other ‘him’ was. He knew that bringing Jeb onboard was going to stir up some ugly memories for Xanthe, but he knew (hoped) the man could handle it.

“My father screwed up a lot of people’s lives,” Xanthe murmured.

Brittney said nothing for a moment. The hallway was now vacant save for the two Tin Men.

“You know they’ve sentenced him to death,” he said quietly.

Xanthe nodded stiffly. “Yeah, I heard.”

The Captain waited, not pressing him, knowing that Xanthe had more to say.

“Sometimes…” he began, speaking so quietly that Brittney had to strain to hear him. “I wish I could be there.”

Piercing grey eyes flicked up to the Captain and pinned him to the floor with their intensity.

Corbin was a large man, and not much unnerved him, but the lethally cold stare Xanthe latched on him sent a shiver of fear down his spine. The bitter hatred that boiled behind those grey eyes chilled him to the marrow. Corbin was beginning to wonder if he had misjudged the depth of Xanthe’s hatred for his father.

“If they’d let me,” Xanthe continued, reverting back to his old accent, “I’d flip the damn switch m’self.”

Before he could say anything, Xanthe walked away, leaving the big man alone in the hall with an apprehension, he hadn’t anticipated.

***

Jeb returned to the little office with his lamp and chair, both of which were defective to a considerable degree.  
Jeb had asked several people where he could find the requested items, but only one person he stopped in the hallway seemed to feel like helping him out.

“There’s a closet around the corner that should have what you’re looking for,” she said.

Jeb found the closet without difficulty, but he couldn’t help feeling like he’d been had. The majority of the items in the little closet were junk. There was a lamp, though. The lamp wouldn’t turn on at first, Jeb had to smack it to get the bulb to flicker, but there was only one chair that had all four legs. It had no cushion on the back, and one leg was broken, causing it to teeter.

Jeb walked through the open door of the office to find that Detective Blaise was back at his desk, looking more irritated than earlier. If that was possible. He handed Jeb a note pad without looking up from his next page of paper, with a list of names and words, with orders to “Sort ‘em out with this an’ by date.” Which has led to the last six hours being spent by acquiring paper cuts and shuffling one tower of paper into another and a growing desire for a magic wand.

And during that time, Jeb had also discovered that the coffeemaker was, perhaps unsurprisingly, the heart of the station. It kept the chaotic, endless engine of the Tin Men and office workers functioning, and relatively sane.

Jeb made several trips down to the caffeinated shrine, after receiving clipped directions from Blaise on where to find it. He kept his and the detective’s cups from running dry, partly because he didn’t want to see what happened to Blaise’s affable demeanor if he was made to go get his own coffee. And Jeb was also certain that it was expected of him as a new recruit to be the coffee gofer.

Establishing his place in the pecking order of the police department was going to take a while. Everyone started on the bottom; so running around didn’t bother Jeb like it might have if he hadn’t been through something similar while in the Resistance. This was actually fairly tame by comparison. So far, anyway.

Jeb was sorting through another big box in the corner of the room, when a name on one of the files caught his attention. Shuffling the stack in his hands, he thumbed open the file. Most of the papers were personnel files and correspondence, so there was nothing really unusual about finding a folder dedicated to a singe person, but it was this _particular_ person that raised a flag with Jeb.

Emmett White

‘Strange,’ Jeb thought.

“What is it?”

Jeb jumped. He must have said that last out loud. Damn, I’m not normally one to twitch at every sound. Got to be the coffee. He’d been working straight through lunch, come to think of it. High doses of caffeine on an empty stomach did wonders for the nerves.

“Just a file.” Jeb said through a forced, calming sigh. “I recognized the name.”

Detective Blaise grunted.

“Wha’s the name?”

“Emmett White. I met him once, here, in Central City. He was an informant that we used in the Resistance. He wasn’t real reliable.”

Jeb heard the detective’s chair squeak as he leaned back in it.  
“But,” he continued as he turned toward the detective, setting the rest of the stack of folders in his hands back in the box. “This can’t be right. This says he’s still paying his water bill.”

Blaise was frowning at him through his narrow grey eyes, when he looked up from the file. Jeb offered it to him. He hesitated, and then took it, eating through the printed words. “So it says. Why’s that odd?” he asked, looking up at Jeb through his hair.

Jeb folded his arms across his chest, leaning a hip against the desk and nodded at the file. “That says he’s been paying that bill every month since spring.”

Blaise made an impatient gesture of incomprehension. “ _And_?”

Jeb raised a pale eyebrow. “ _And_ I know for a fact that the man died a whole two months _before_ that renew date.”

Blaise raised his own blonde, scarred eyebrow and gazed back down at the file in his hands. Finally, he grunted, folded it, and handed it back to Jeb.

“Could jus’ be a case of iden’y fraud. It’s not really that unus’al,” he said picking up another paper on his desk. “And it duhn’t look like he was assoc’ated with any of the names we’re lookin’ into at the moment. Set it over there an’ I’ll have Maude from I.M. take a look ‘t it.”

Jeb hesitated and then did as the detective instructed, asking, “I.M.?”

“I.M.U.,” Blaise said, pronouncing the acronym like ‘ee-moo’. “Identity Misuse Unit.”

Ah. Uncomfortable silence descended as Jeb held back a question he wanted to ask and the detective pretended he didn’t notice.

“So,” Jeb hazarded finally. “Why exactly _are_ we looking into these particular names?”

“Cerruption,” Blaise answered, again, not looking at Jeb. He couldn’t help feeling like the man was trying to avoid any direct visual contact. Maybe he was self conscious of the state of his face, but Jeb had a feeling that wasn’t it.

Jeb waited for further explanation, but received none.

He was quickly coming to the conclusion that getting Detective Blaise to explain _anything_ about what he was working on was about as rewarding as trying to pull a pig through a keyhole.

But he was going to _have_ to tell him. Sooner rather than later. Or else what the hell was he doing here?

Jeb turned back to his pile of files. The two young men worked quietly as the clock ticked off the hours, broken only with the occasional question on Jeb’s part, usually a clarification. Blaise answered with concise sentences. Never exceeding six words. The man was damn near vociferous.  
After a good while, Jeb’s stomach reminded him, that on top of missing lunch, he had missed dinner as well.

Blaise looked over at Jeb, and then stared up at the clock on the wall. He heaved a sigh and flipped the folder he was reading through, closed. He drained his long cold coffee and leaned back in his chair, pinning Jeb with a frown.

“Y’ need a place t’ stay, right?” he asked.

Jeb nodded, not expecting the question. He had been wondering when they would call it a day, however, Jeb knew better than to ask. Blaise stood, stretching lightly. Jeb could hear the man’s joints pop from the other side of the room.

“Wouldn’t mind finding a place to eat, either. If there’s anything still open.”

The other man grunted. “It’s the city. There’s always somethin’ open.” Grabbing up his coat from the back of his chair, he walked from the room, saying, “Fullow me.”

Jeb quickly set down his files, and followed, picking up his own coat from the peg on the wall. Blaise locked the office door behind them and started walking.

The man had a long stride. Jeb hadn’t really expected him to be a vigorous walker judging by his static position for most of the day. But, apparently, when Blaise decided to move, he moved.  
Jeb had some difficulty keeping pace with him and steering clear of collisions at the same time.  
While they walked, Jeb studied the man as they wove through the station. Detective Xanthe Blaise was tall, taller than Jeb himself, and of a narrow build. He wasn’t exactly an imposing figure, like Captain Brittney, but something about him… there was this _intensity_. It hung about him in a black shadowy bubble. And everyone steered clear of that bubble.

As they strode through the station, Jeb was looking around in surprise. But, upon reflection, he realized he shouldn’t have expected anything less. Captain Brittney and Detective Blaise had both mentioned the decrease in police numbers. It must be ‘all hands on deck’ here. There were still so many people working at this hour.

They were nearing the rear exit of the station when two men that looked a bit like twins if you stretched one or flattened the other, hailed Blaise. They both had greasy dark hair and sour expressions, and wore the green waistcoat that Jeb was starting to associate with Central City Tin Men.

“Blaise!” the shorter, man exclaimed. “Leavin’ a bit early t’day are ya?” He said with an unfriendly white-toothed smile.

“Well,” he amended. “Early fer you. Delacroix an’ I ‘ere were under the impression you lived ‘ere, now.”

Blaise slowed as he drew closer to them. The short man continued to needle the detective, his smile slimy. “Trouble at ‘ome with the misses?”

“Garner. Delacroix,” Blaise said in cautious acknowledgment.

Jeb looked between the three men and the subtle tension in Blaise’s posture.

The taller one, Delacroix, asked, “Still wadin’ through that swamp of personnel files?” His sharp, thin features showed no warmth. “You firin’ anyone we know?”

Blaise shifted his weight and pegged the thin man with a glare.  
“I don’t fire anyone, Delacroix. I arrest them. And maybe I would detain less of your friends if you stopped being so congenial with criminals.”

Jeb stared discreetly at Blaise in surprise. He hadn’t heard the man use so many words all day. And he spoke well, intercity accent suddenly gone, which also surprised the hell out of Jeb. Who is this guy?

Delacroix sneered, taking an angry step toward the young detective. “You–“

Garner stopped him with a raised hand. “Easy, Sean, the man’s just doin’ ‘is job, right?” He seemed to just realize that Jeb was watching, standing behind and to the side of Blaise.

“An’ who’s this?”

“Jeb. Cain,” Jeb answered, adding his surname as an afterthought.

Blaise shifted subtly again, but remained silent.

“Jeb Cain,” Garner said thoughtfully. “Any relation t’ Wyatt Cain?”

Jeb felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up as he answered his question.  
“I’m his son.”

“’Ear that, Sean?” Garner said with an unfriendly smile. “We ‘ave a _Cain_ gracin’ the halls of er station. Ain’t that somethin’?”

“Leave it, Garner,” Blaise warned quietly, shifting to stand directly between Jeb the shorter man. His tone was as warm as a snowdrift.

Jeb jerked lightly, casting Blaise a startled glance. His voice. He had just sounded like…

Garner chuckled, holding up both hands, palms out. “Take it easy, we’re just ‘avin’ a bit of fun.”

Blaise glared down at the man. “Go have your fun somewhere else.”

“Someone’s touchy,” Delacroix snipped.

“Don’t bother,” Garner said lightly. “We’ll see you ‘round, Blaise.”

The two men started to walk away, but not before the short one nodded to Jeb with an unnerving smile. “Mr. Cain.”

Blaised waited till they turned the corner before spitting a curse after them.

“Scum, the both of ‘em.”

He turned to pin Jeb with a narrow grey eye. “Don’t let ‘em corner you. They’ll try t’ pick a fight.”

Jeb frowned. And his accent was back. “Why? Aren’t they Tin Men?”

“Yes,” Blaise said, spitting the word out like a bad taste. “But not the good kind. We know they worked with the Longcoats, but the actual evidence ‘asn’t been substantial ‘nough to remove ‘em from duty.”

Jeb frowned down at the empty hall were the two men had vanished from sight.

“Come on,” Blaise said after a while. “Let’s get ya settled an’ I’ll show ya where y’can grab somethin’ t’ eat.”

***

The detective opened the door and walked down the wet stone steps. Jeb was hot on his heels.

Xanthe didn’t like to admit it, but this Cain kid had managed to impress him. He was a hard worker. There weren’t too many of those. Most people who join the police force think that they’re going to be patrolling and making arrests all the time. They think it’s always exciting and dangerous. But the most dangerous thing Jeb Cain had done all day was amass paper cuts and develop a budding addiction to the station’s coffee. Xanthe had seen a number of rookies quit before the sun had set on their first day. Cain, however, had not. Working well into the night, the rookie had organized and catalogued without any complaint, just a few intelligent questions here and there. It was going on eleven by the time the kid’s stomach started growling loud enough for Xanthe to hear across the room. He also realized that the kid had worked straight through lunch. Not many people would do that either.

Xanthe decided he’d be… nice. If only he could remember exactly what being “nice” looked like.

“I need to get my horse,” Jeb stated, halting Xanthe’s momentum.

He turned to Jeb with a frown. It was pitch black outside. The only light came from the dim sconces on the side of the building.

“Horse?”

“Yes. It’s how I got here,” Jeb said, tilting his head a fraction to the side. One of his blonde brows steadily rose as he read the older man’s expression. “Captain Brittney said that there’d be a place to board her.”

Xanthe’s frown deepened. That’s right. He had heard Jeb asking about a horse when he had first been dropped at his office. Xanthe had stop paying attention to the rest of the conversation as soon as said horse was mentioned. He didn’t care much for the creatures.

“Y’ ‘ave t’ get it _now_? It’s goin’ on midnight,” Xanthe kept the pleading note out of his voice, but apparently not all of it from his face, if Jeb’s expression was anything to go by. And the little bastard looked amused. Shit. So much for being nice.

Most people had difficulty reading Xanthe. He attributed it to the scars that distorted his features. And he’d gotten used to the buffer. But for some reason, Jeb had no such difficulty. Even in the half-light of the back of the station, he was picking up on the subtle cues in Xanthe’s body language, and the detective didn’t care to be read so easily.

“Fine,” Xanthe griped. “Go get the damn nag.”

Jeb just stared at him silently for a second.

“I don’t know where the stables are from here.”

Fuck. Xanthe avoided the stables on purpose.

“They’re ‘round the side of the station,” Xanthe stated, even though he knew he would have to show him. It was pitch black out there. And like it or not, Jeb Cain was Xanthe’s responsibility. The captain wouldn’t be too thrilled if Xanthe showed up to work short a rookie because he had killed himself falling over a pothole in a dark alley.

Damn it.

Without saying anything other than an unintelligible grumble, Xanthe walked by Jeb into the dark. Jeb hesitated, and then quickly followed after him.

***

Jeb could barely see where he was going, let alone where Blaise was. He was a dim outline in the wet alley. If his blonde hair didn’t stand out so much, and if he didn’t grunt a word of warning every once in a while, Jeb would hardly know the man was there at all. His footsteps never made a sound. Or maybe Jeb was just drowning them out.

“Oof!” That was the _third_ pothole he had stumbled over. Even though Blaise had warned him it was coming. Jeb cursed silently. His shoes were soaked by this point.

He felt a wave of relief when he could hear muted snorts. He could also see the light of a lantern shining merrily over Blaise’s shoulder.

“We’re here,” Blaise grumbled. “Get your nag an’ let’s go.”

Walking around him, Jeb traveled down the stalls, looking for Mercy. Horses stuck their heads out of their stalls to see the newcomer, hoping for handouts.  
Jeb found her where he had left her, on the far end of the stables.

“Hey gorgeous,” he said by way of greeting. Mercy snorted and snuffled through his pockets, hoping for a secreted apple. “I’ll get you more tomorrow, as soon as I figure out how to get to the market.” He rubbed her forelock affectionately.  
Looking around, he saw that his tack had been wiped down and hung on the saddle rack.

Sliding the stall door open, he led Mercy to the saddle rack without a halter. She didn’t need to be tied to anything either, while he started saddling her up. She just waited patiently for him to finish, only gulping in air and swelling her tummy like a balloon for a few minutes as Jeb alternately tightened the girth strap and kneed her in the stomach. The last thing you needed when riding a horse was to have the saddle slide off because you didn’t have the cinch tight enough.

“Wha’ the hell’s _takin_ ’ so long?” Blaise shouted from the other end of the stable.

Jeb sighed through his nose. “Come on, Mercy, give it up. We can’t keep the detective waiting. He might just leave us here,” he said to the mare. “You’ve _had_ dinner. I need something to eat before _I_ keel over. And the irritated man down at the end of the stable said he would show me where to find some. So behave,” he admonished fondly.

Mercy snorted, and finally exhaled. Jeb tightened the cinch before the horse could suck in another breath.

Leading Mercy down the row of stalls, Jeb made his way back to an impatient Blaise. He stood in the open air of the alley. It had started raining. He was sparkling with dew and looking remarkably dour.

“You didn’t have to wait in the rain,” Jeb remarked, keeping his amusement to himself.

Blaise eyed the mare with distrust, grunting noncommittally. He started walking, thankfully _not_ going back down the alley, but heading out onto the main street instead. Jeb rolled his eyes and followed.

***

They walked, but really, it would have been a faster ride. Jeb hadn’t realized they were going so far. He half wondered if Blaise was jerking his chain, leading them on a convoluted goose chase. Maybe they were just going in a massive circle and would wind up back at the station. Jeb might have Mercy bite the detective if that was the case.

They turned the corner down another street and Blaise finally stopped.

“Y’ can leave _that_ ‘ere. Rooms ‘re in the buildin’ nex’ door.”

Jeb ignored the man’s depreciating remark about Mercy and looked around. It was a hovel. But a nice hovel. Jeb noticed that the stables looked nicer than the apartment building, so at least that was something. He walked his bay mare into the stables, and spent the next few minutes settling her in. Jeb didn’t see a place to keep the tack, so he walked out with the saddle over his shoulder. Blaise stared at him for a second, his mouth twitching as he eyed the saddle, and then silently led him up the crooked stairs to the boarding house.  
The inside wasn’t as bad as Jeb had feared, going by the outside of the building.

Blaise pounded loudly on an empty reception desk. Why use words when you could make just as much noise by damaging the furniture? Jeb thought to himself.  
An ancient man, with wispy white hair and a hunched back walked up to the desk from a back room.

“How can I help you?” the old man asked. At least, that’s what Jeb assumed he said. His voice was odd, like he left his tongue on the roof of his mouth while he spoke.  
Blaise didn’t answer. At least not verbally. He started making shapes with his hands.

The old man’s shaggy eyebrows popped up in surprise.

‘I need a room for him. He’s new. A rookie.’ Blaise said with signs. He didn’t verbalize.

Jeb just stood there and watched him. He had no idea what was happening.

‘Detective Blaise!’ the old man replied in surprise, speaking as he signed. ‘Why aren’t you speaking?’

‘Because I don’t feel like including him,’ Blaise answered.

‘Why not?’

‘Because I’m a dick, Trevor.’

The old man grunted and nodded. ‘That is true.’

‘So can you get him a room, or not?’

‘Have patience,’ Trevor signed and spoke, his body language soothing. ‘Have him sign in, or you could do that. I’ll get him a key. You used to live here, you can tell him the rules.’

‘Fine,’ Blaise signed and took the ledger Trevor offered him.

Blaise started to fill in Jeb’s information. Jeb watched the old man hobble into the back room.

“What was that about?” Jeb asked.

“E’s gettin’ ya a room key. I’ll show ya up,” Blaise said, giving him only half an answer.

“Not to complain–” Jeb began, shifting the saddle on his shoulder. It was fucking heavy.

“Then don’t finish that sen’ence,” Blaise griped.

Jeb shifted the saddle again and clamped his mouth shut. Gods, the man was pissy.

Blaise just finished writing when the old man came back. He clucked at the detective as he handed him a key, the room number dangling from the key fob.

‘You could have told the boy to leave the saddle in the storage room. You know where it is.’

Blaise made a face.  
‘I could have.’

Trevor sighed and shook his head. ‘At least you know you’re a dick,’ he signed to the detective.

Blaise snorted. ‘Thanks pops, I’ll walk him up to the room.’

Old man nodded and watched them leave, shaking his head.

Jeb’s arm was about ready to fall off by now, but he sucked it up and followed Blaise up the stairs. As they made their way up, Blaise rattled off the house rules. Jeb figured the detective had lived here at one time to become so familiar with the place. He also explained that Trevor, who was the man at the front desk, Jeb learned, was deaf. Yelling for help at the desk would have amounted to nothing. Hence the pounding on the desk. Trevor could feel the vibrations, Blaise explained in his usual manner. Jeb was hardly surprised by that. Half the dorms should have been able to feel the tremors.  
They came out on the second floor. Thank the Gods, because if it had been any further, Jeb would have just parked it on the stairs and called that home for the night.  
Blaise tracked down the room and opened the door. Jeb walked in, looking around his new home. It was no bigger than a shoebox, but it had a bed and a window, and the light worked. That was enough.

“Bathrooms an’ showers ‘re down the hall,” Blaise said from outside the room.

Jeb finally thumped the saddle onto the floor near the foot of the bed. The arm that had been supporting it had gone numb a floor ago. “Great. Thank you for getting me here.”

The detective frowned. “You still hungry?”

“Starving,” Jeb said without hesitation. And exhausted, but he didn’t tell him that.

The older man nodded. He hugged the shadows of the hallway. “I know a place,” he said.

Jeb almost groaned aloud. “If it’s another twenty minute walk, I’m staying here.”

The other man snorted. “It isn’t.”

Jeb sighed, and then spread his hands in defeat. “Lead the way.”


	3. The Rookie

Chapter 3: The Rookie

Blaise, did not lie, Jeb reflected.

He followed the detective back down the stairs and out into the night. And then immediately walked into the basement of the building next door. The place wasn’t packed, but it had more than a handful of people in it, impressive, given the hour and the surroundings. Blaise walked over to a small table in a dark corner with a clear view of the entrance and exit, and sat. Jeb did likewise, practically falling into the chair. A very tall woman, who’s face looked permanently pinched into a visage of contempt, walked over to them and asked what they wanted.

“Two of the house sandwiches,” Blaise replied, ordering for them both. Jeb was too tired to argue.

The woman grunted and scribbled on her tiny note pad. “Thought you moved out’a the dorm years ago, Blaise,” the woman said as she scribbled.

I did,” he said, casting a nod to Jeb. “This is ‘r newest rookie. I’m showin’ ‘im ‘round.”

The woman flicked a look to the young man in question. Jeb stared back. She flicked her eyes back to her paper, “Sandwiches’ll be out in five.”

Jeb watched her leave, still trying to pick apart the city accent; it was thick in the woman’s voice. Jeb’s lip twitched into a small frown. Blaise’s accent was distinctly different from her’s. Maybe it wasn’t an accent at all, but more of a verbal laziness? Jeb turned to study Blaise, putting aside his internal musings for the time being. “You used to live here?” he asked, not really expecting an answer.

But the detective surprised him.

“For the first two years. I ‘ave an apartmen’ now, closer t’ the station.”

Jeb shrugged with his eyebrows. “I can see why.”

Blaise didn’t reply.

“So,” Jeb began. “What time do I meet you at the office?”

Again, Blaise was quiet. Finally, “Six in the mornin’. Break fer lunch is at noon. Don’t skip it this time. I’m not scrapin’ ya off the floor b’cuz ya can’t be bothered t’ eat.”

Jeb kept his mouth shut. Missing lunch was a test, and they both knew it. And, Jeb suspected, he had passed that test.

“The day ends at eight fer most people, but I stay late. Just tell me when ya want t’ leave and I’ll either send ya home, or ask ya to stay t’ finish whatever we’re workin’ on,” Blaise said staring, assessing, from his dark corner.

Jeb had no complaints.

Blaise continued, “If you need t’ grab dinner, go at seven or eight. Rush hour is five and six.”

Jeb nodded. “I’ll do that.”

The two men waited in silence. Jeb, realizing that the other man more than likely preferred the quiet, sucked in a breath to ask him a question, “How long have you been a Tin Man?”

Blaise didn’t react at first. Finally, he shifted his gaze from tracking the people in the room to fix his grey eyes on Jeb. “I have a better question,” he said in a low tone. “Why do you _want_ t’ be a Tin Man?” Jeb opened his mouth to reply, but never go any words out.

“If it’s cuz of yer father, I’m gonna to tell you right now, you should do somethin’ else.”

Jeb felt his face heat, but managed to school his expression. “It’s not because of my father.”

“Don’t be an idiot, of course it’s because of your father,” Blaise said with his characteristic glare, and sudden shift in verbal pattern.

Jeb felt his blush extending toward his ears. “O-kay…”

He leaned back in his chair and folded his arms over his chest. “Yes, it’s partly because of my father.”

Blaise grunted, shifting his attention to the seated patrons.

“But that isn’t why I want to do this,” Jeb continued. “Sure, part of me wants to be even _half_ the Tin Man I heard he was, but I want to help people. I want to make the O.Z. a better place.”

Grey eyes shifted back to him. “You want to make the O.Z. a better place? What are you, twelve?”

Jeb glared. It was going on one in the morning, and he needed to be back at the station in five hours, he hadn’t eaten anything all day, and he had put up with this man’s sour attitude for as long as he could stand. “Yes, asshole, I want to make this world a better place. I want to help make sure that something like the corruption of the Wicked Witch can never happen again. I want to put the people that supported her in jail, to hold them accountable for their actions.”

“An’ after that?” Blaise demanded.

“To help the citizens of Central City find balance again. To enforce the laws. Laws created by political officials that were appointed by the people not put in power by tyrants. Isn’t that why you became a Tin Man? To make a difference?”

Just then, the food arrived. After the waitress left, casting them both contemptible stares, Blaise fixed Jeb with an expression he couldn’t altogether read.

He replied quietly, “Yes, patriot, I wanted to make a difference.”

Jeb just stared back at him, angry and tired. He completely missed that he had spoken in the past tense. The two of them sat measuring each other for another moment. Blaise broke the staring contest. He motioned for Jeb to eat as he picked up his sandwich. Jeb picked up his own sandwich, still breathing hard. The detective had managed to push his buttons quite effectively. Jeb watched him eat for a few seconds before being able to calm down enough to bite into the bread-encased meal.

The sandwich was exactly what he needed.

***

They walked back outside after paying for the food. Blaise paid, which was, again, unexpected. Jeb paused at the foot of the stairs to the dorm. “Thank you,” he said. The detective stood a ways off, and slightly cocked his head.

“For showing me around. And for the food,” Jeb continued.

Blaise shrugged. “Thank the captain. He ordered me to.” Jeb bit his tongue before he could call him an asshole again. “Thanks, anyway.”

Blaise hesitated, and then shrugged again. “Sure.”

Jeb didn’t have the energy to deal with the man any longer. “I’ll see you in a few hours, then.”

“Yes,” he said. “Don’t be late. There’s a clock in your dorm room that has an alarm. Use it.”

He started walking away again. “See you at six,” he called over his shoulder before he disappeared into the dark, blonde hair fading into the dark grey shadows.

The man still didn’t make any noise as he walked through the night-blanketed street. Jeb shook his head. Uncanny. The exhausted young man turned and walked up the stairs. When he got to his room, all he wanted to do was collapse in a heap, but he forced himself to track down the clock.

He found it tucked behind the curtain over his window. It took him a frustrating fifteen minutes to figure out how the damn thing worked. A mechanic he was not. And you almost needed an engineering degree to set the fucking alarm on the damn thing.

Finally, that accomplished, he crashed onto the bed fully clothed, and was out like a light before his head even hit the flat pillow. He had been too tired to remember to turn the lights off.

***

The alarm went off.

Jeb had no idea what was happening at first. He reacted, jerking out of bed and falling on the floor, twisting around, disorientated from his prone position, trying to understand why a brass band was parading around the inside of his ears.

He didn’t even know where he was until he found and smashed the clock into silence.

Heart still racing, he looked around him. Right. Central City. New room. Need to be at the station by six. Cantankerous Tin Man. Mercy in the stables.

Jeb looked at the clock.

“Shit!”

In his sleep-deprived mind, he had set the alarm for six. The time he needed to be _at_ work.

“Shit shit shit!”

***

“I thought you might have died,” Xanthe stated emotionlessly from behind his desk, even though he was snickering in his head. The kid looked a mess. “I tol’ you work star’ed at six,” he went on as Jeb hung his coat on the wall. “You did,” he agreed.

“Then why the hell’re you ‘ere at seven?” Xanthe thought he saw a faint blush bloom across the cheeks of the younger man.

“Set the wrong time and I couldn’t remember how to get here.”

Xanthe raised an eyebrow. 'Well at least he didn’t try to lie and make up a lame excuse.'

“Fine. You can ge’ me a refill,” Xanthe said, holding out the dry coffee mug. “An’ get yerself one. Ya look like ya need it. After that, go to ac’sitions and bring up the boxes labeled I.I.”

Jeb had to pause a second to run Detective Blaise’s words through a mental filter. ‘Ah,’ he thought. ‘AcQUIsitions. Right.’ The young Cain grabbed the mug and jumped to it. Not two seconds after the kid had left, and Xanthe had turned back to his desk that was still overflowing with stacks of paper, did Captain Brittney stick his head in the office door.

“What did you do to him?” he asked, startling Xanthe and causing a stack of files to scatter to the floor.

“ _Damn_ it, Corbin, _cough_ or somethin’. You scared the shit outta me.”

“I repeat,” the captain said, ignoring the younger man’s grousing. “What did you do to my new recruit?”

“Nothing,” Xanthe replied unconvincingly, leaning over in his chair to collect the spilled files.

“He looks like he slept in a garbage bin,” Brittney accused.

 Xanthe raised his eyebrows and sat back in his chair, papers in hand. 'Now that he mentioned it, he did look a little like he had slept in a garbage bin.' “That’s possible,” Xanthe began, ruminatively. “But last I saw ‘im, I left ‘im at the steps o’ the boardin’ ‘ouse. It ain’t my fault the kid couldn’t fin’ ‘is way back up to ‘is rum.”

Brittney’s eyebrows descended. “So he _did_ sleep in a bin?!”

Xanthe snorted, “Doub’ it.”

The captain moved fully into the doorway. “Xanthe, I told you to take care of him, not torture him.”

“I’m _not_ torturing him,” Xanthe said defensively. Brittney’s face remained unmoved by the detective’s affirmation. Xanthe sighed. “Ok, maybe a little. But he’s a rookie. It comes with the territory.” Brittney eyed the man distrustfully. “I need him, Xanthe. We both do. Hell, we _all_ do. Every decent officer is vital to what we are trying to do here. And I’m sure I don’t have to remind you of that.”

Xanthe glared and tossed the files on his desk. “No,” he said tetchily. “You don’t need to remind me. I _know_ what is at stake here, Captain Brittney.”

Brittney flinched back a hair. “Xanthe-“

“But it would be foolish to think this kid has what it takes to be one of us _without_ testing his conviction. And it would be equally foolish to assume he has the same vision we do, even with his history in the Resistance and his lineage. Neither of which should instantly incur favor concerning his future as a Tin Man,” Xanthe intoned somberly with just a sliver of steel in his words.

Brittney stared at the man with an annoyed curve to his mouth. The expression was half buried by his whitening mustache. “Valid points,” he eventually conceded. The enormous man sighed. “So what do you make of him?” he asked.

Xanthe sighed, his frown deepening. “He has heart. And does remarkably well as an underling for having been a man that used to call all of the shots,” Xanthe admitted reluctantly.

Brittney raised his brows at the praise. The young Cain had clearly made an impression.

“ _But,_ ” Xanthe continued. “He has an idealism that could color his work. He’s still just a soldier. He doesn’t know the laws here even though he preaches to himself their worth and value.” The young detective cast his captain a steely grey look. “He has a long way to go before becoming one of us.”

Brittney sighed. “So,” the big man asked. “How are you teaching him? What task do you have him doing to further this knowledge about what it takes to be ‘one of us’?” Xanthe didn’t respond right away. Brittney raised his eyebrows. Xanthe turned back to his and cleared his throat. “Examination and retrieval of classified documents.”

Brittney’s eyebrows attempted to mate with his receding hairline, but was preventing from doing so by the sheer mass of distance they would need to travel. And the eyebrows, much like the man, were beyond the years when such acrobatics might have been feasible. However, time had put no such obstacle in the man’s voice. “You have him _fetching boxes_?!” the captain thundered, his eyebrows crashing down into an intensely disapproving glare. The windowpane in the office door rattled from the force of the captain’s bellowing. “What did I say about using the boy as your _personal dogsbody_ , Xanthe?!”

The detective had the grace to look a shade guilty. He cleared his throat again. “I’m not. He’s _temporarily_ the department’s dogsbody until I figure out what his strengths are.” 

“That’s what I just _said_!”

“That isn’t–“

“It _is_!” The captain fumed at him. “You’re the only one _in_ your department!”

Xanthe opened his mouth with a retort on the tip of his tongue, but then hung there, paused in thought. He closed his mouth. And then opened it again, “Well… technically that isn’t true. There are _two_ of us–“ Brittney threw up his immense hands in defeat. “Just _teach_ the boy!” he commanded before storming from the office. Xanthe waited a moment, thinking, and then turned back to his desk once more, sorting through the disorganized files.

***

“So, what’s it like?” A soft, conspiratorial voice asked.

Jeb had yet to actually speak with anyone from the station outside of the handful of people he had met yesterday, so when he was filling Detective Blaise’s coffee cup and heard a voice behind him, naturally he assumed they were speaking to someone else.

“Working with Detective Blaise, I mean?” The voice came again.

When there was no answer, Jeb cast a hesitant glance behind him. He was met with the unexpected and direct gaze of a young woman. Jeb set the metal coffee maker back on the stovetop.

“Sorry, are you speaking to me?” He asked.

The young woman had quite a distinctive appearance. Her overly large brown eyes were framed by impressively thick, round glasses that immensely magnified. She also had thin black brows that danced into an intrigued frown. Her thick, black, corkscrew curls escaped an oversized green knit hat at haphazard angles. Her vest and walking skirt were varying shades of the same green, so Jeb could only assume that she was staff here at the station. She also displayed an impressive array of polished stone jewelry.

“Of course!” she exclaimed with a perplexed giggle. “We’ve all heard that Captain Brittney has finally assigned someone new to work with Detective Blaise in II and you’re the only new face around here.”

Jeb, holding two hot mugs of coffee now, pondered the quickest way out of this conversation.

“I see,” he said. “Yes, I’m the Rookie. My name’s Jeb.”

The young woman smiled. “Knew it! I’m Tessa. I work in IMU.”

Jeb smiled to be polite. “Nice to meet you, Tessa.” He raised the mugs he held in his hands slightly to draw her attention to them. “I’m afraid I have to get back to II.”

Her eyebrows jumped up her forehead. “Oh! Yes! Of course.”

Jeb nodded and started walking back to Blaise’s office, thinking the conversation was at an end. But apparently, Tessa thought differently. She kept pace with him easily as he walked through the station.

“So, what is it like to work with Detective Blaise?” she asked again.

“Um,” Jeb answered wondering what exactly it was he _should_ say. “I just started yesterday, so I don’t think–“

“I’ve heard all sorts of things,” she interjected, speaking quickly. “And no one seems to remain his partner very long.”

Again, Jeb didn’t know what to say, but it seemed that his part in the conversation was really unnecessary. Tessa was quite capable of carrying on the exchange all by herself.

“Take what happened to Detective Blaise’s first partner, for example. They’d been working together only a _week_ before Detective Blaise had found evidence that he was in another man’s pocket. Someone in the government,” Tessa continued in her high voice. “ _Imagine!_ ” She said easily avoiding the mass of traffic as they continued walking back to II. “Selling secrets here in _our_ precinct! And he was a senior officer to boot! Detective Blaise jailed him then and there. And he’d only been with us a few months himself! The man became a legend overnight. A genuine savant, he is. And absolutely _fearless_.”

Jeb could hear the genuine admiration in her voice.

“He had no prior experience,” she said, not leaving any verbal breathing room for Jeb to put in his two cents even if he had wanted to. “And was barely out of his teens! Our good Captain Brittney just brought him in one day and assigned him as the head of II! Mica and granite, we were surprised. Mind you, I was taken on a few years later, so it’s all a bunch of gossip, really.”

Jeb could see the office door.

“It must be such an honor to work with such a talented individual.”

“Yes, it must. You’ll have to excuse me now, Tessa,” Jeb said, finally breaking in.

“Oh!” Tessa paused as they came to stand outside the office, the door open. “Of course.”

Relieved, Jeb walked into the tiny office to find Detective Blaise exactly where he had left him. He set the coffee down in the detective’s impatiently waiting hand with a roll of his eyes. The man didn’t even bother to look up from his papers. How anyone could be enamored with him, Jeb truly had no idea. He had yet to see anything remarkable about him other than his lack of courtesy and hygiene.

Jeb walked around to the other side of the desk. Taking a gulp of his own burned coffee before setting the mug down by his lamp and heading back out to go retrieve the boxes of files in Acquisitions, he nearly ran into Tessa who had been loitering by the door.

“Oh!”

“Tessa!” Jeb exclaimed. “Was there something else that I could help you with?”

“Oh, n-no. Well,” she stammered. “Yes. P-perhaps.”

Jeb waited a good half second. But when the little woman had nothing immediately forthcoming, he stated, “I need to head down to Acquisitions. If you have something to ask–“

“Acquisitions! Have you been there?” Tessa asked, cutting in. This was clearly her norm.

“No,” Jeb reluctantly replied. “But–“

“I can show you, then,” she said cheerily. “IMU’s on the same level. Follow me.”

Jeb sighed heavily, rolling his eye to the ceiling. He reigned in his rising temper. It wouldn’t do him any good, anyway. He followed after the little woman, her mouth still running tirelessly about Detective Blaise and then the history of the station and the seventh precinct. Focusing particularly on the foundations and geology of the area.

***

to be continued.


End file.
